


Wandering Eye

by seethesunshine



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seethesunshine/pseuds/seethesunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being ditched at the alter, Sophie finds herself in England, spending her last night of what could have been her honeymoon on the London Eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering Eye

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a while. I almost never write about TH (I find him a bit insufferable), but he just really fit into this story. Moves through the London bit fast, story mostly takes place in NYC.

"I'm a bit nervous," she admitted to the clerk who took her ticket as she boarded. Taking one quick glance at her surroundings, Sophie swallowed a mouthful of air and closed her eyes. She was in London, about to board the London Eye, and what should have been one of the most romantic nights of her life, was turning out to be the loneliest.

She _was_ nervous, however, but not because of the Eye. In fact, she loved nothing more than heights. She was nervous of where her life was headed, of what her next step would be when tomorrow morning came and she was alone in her hotel room, ready to head back home. She planned her honeymoon for months, her wedding for years, all to be left at the alter by her run away groom, and here she was, alone in London.

"You've got an extra ticket, miss," the clerk announced almost too loudly. She smiled nervously, looking around at the people behind her. The clerk sighed, waving the ticket in the air, the lights from the Eye suddenly too bright in the darkness of December nights.  
"One open ticket!" He yelled, his arm in the air.  
"Do you have to do that?" Sophie sighed, "I don't mind losing what I paid."  
He shrugged, "last call, one open ticket!" He repeated, the 23 patrons already aboard the shuttle impatient.  
She shuffled onto the open landing, nervously clutching her scarf to her body as she heard behind her, "I'll take it."

She exhaled grateful, the heavy steps of the ticket taker behind her as the shuttle door closed, sealing out the frigid winter air. She huddled in a corner, glove clad hands gripping the handle bar as the shuttle began to move. Slowly, barely an inch off the ground, she felt her knees go weak. This wasn't how she played the moment out in her head. She closed her eyes momentarily, chocolate hair slipping in her face beneath her wool beanie.

"Miss," she heard the same voice from behind her.  
Opening her eyes she tried a smile, "yes?"  
He handed her a few bills, "for your ticket."  
She waved her hand, sniffling slightly, "it's fine, I didn't pay for it anyway."  
"Oh, I see..." He tried, watching her.  
Sophie laughed, "I didn't steal them! My husband, well my would have been husband, paid for them but he's not here so," she shrugged, turning away.

He stood beside her in silence as the shuttle slowly moved above the London sky. The buildings were illuminate in the darkness of the night, Christmas lights still adorning the city, two day before New Year's Eve. She sighed sadly, her cheek pressed against the cool glass as the snow fell outside. _Keep the tickets_ , he emailed her, _it's the least I could do_. She snorted at the thought, angry and embarrassed and maybe even a bit ashamed. She should have stayed home, should have found solace in a bottle of Jack and a few one night stands.

"Miss," he came again, abandoning his seat in the middle of the shuttle, "are you alright?"  
It was then when Sophie realized she had been crying, "Christ, yes I'm fine. Reminiscing really bites you in the ass, huh?"  
He chucked, a giggly note she didn't expect, "I suppose so," he said, "not exactly the kind of ass biting one would enjoy."  
"Ass biting is enjoyable?" She mused, digging her hands into the pockets of her wool trench.  
"If done correctly," he coerced, "it's thoroughly enjoyable."  
She laughed, shaking her head, "I'll remember that."  
He nodded, "I'm Tom," he offered.  
"Sophie," she shook his outstretched hand.  
"Nice to meet you, Sophie," he tested her name on his tongue, enjoying the blush in her cheeks as he smiled at her.

"Thanks for buying my ticket," she said after a few moments, "I'm sure you've been on this thing more than once."  
He smiled at her, "that I have," he shrugged, "couldn't let the clerk shamble you all night, you were holding up the line."  
"Oh, wonderful," she rolled her eyes, looking out of the glass shuttle, his grin reflecting beside her.

They rode in silence for the remainder of the turn, stealing glances of the other as they watched the streets below them. Randomly, he'd point at a building and tell her a story or two, his blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. She wondered what he was doing there, all alone on a Monday night. He was charming and attractive and she was sure he had a girlfriend waiting at home. She sighed, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips as she thought of her ex. _I should have told you sooner,_ she read, _but I've loved Lacey all along._ She shuddered at the memory, her thoughts stilling as they approached the ground.

He followed her out, thirty minutes gone too fast. If you'd ask him, he'd tell you in great detail what he'd like to do to her if he had the chance. Surely it wouldn't be too vulgar? He snickered at the thought of the brown haired beauty giving in to his attempts, what a night it would be. She seemed fragile, however, too vulnerable for his advances, even. He certainly wasn't a predator but he wasn't opposed to stalking out his prey.

"It was nice meeting you," she murmured, pulling her scarf around her tighter.  
He nodded, "do you have anywhere you need to be, Sophie?"  
The way he said her name made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, "n-not really."  
He offered his arm, "there's a quaint little pub down the road, I'll buy you a drink in return for some good company."  
She watched him for a second, wondering if it was a good idea, "sure, I'd like that," she smiled, the reality of her new normal setting in.

*****

They sat across from each other, the little pub lit by hanging lights and the roaring of a warm fire. The booths were full and the music was loud, Madeline Peyroux's intoxicating voice drifting through the room. She nursed her third vodka tonic, her lips stretching across her perfect teeth as she smiled at him. He was enthralling and she was definitely smitten. Either the vodka was really getting to her or she was extremely sheltered when it came to men. Tom was animated and funny, clever and charming and all around lovely. She laughed as he finished his tale about the first acting gig he'd had, his cheeks flushed as he sipped his pint.

She watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed the dark lager, his blue eyes fixated on her over the rim of his glass. She smiled nervously, averting her eyes as he released a satisfied sighed from his lips. Did she mention he was gorgeous? Tom was the embodiment of sexy; towering height, lean physique, blonde hair and baby blue eyes that could turn a saint into a sinner.

"Tell me why you were at the Eye alone," he finally spoke.  
She sipped the last of her drink, "you don't want to hear my sob story."  
He laughed as he flagged down the server, refilling their order, "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't curious."  
"It's a long story," she averted, tugging at her cream colored sweater, revealing the faintest hint of her pale pink bra, covering the swell of a seemingly glorious breast.  
"I've got all the time in the world," he crooned, sitting back against the booth.  
She shrugged, "I was alone because this was supposed to be my honeymoon. My hus- my ex, left me at the alter then insisted I keep the trip as a consolation because he was in love with someone else all along."  
"Ouch," Tom sighed, "was she your friend?"  
"No," she shook her head, gulping half of her fourth drink, "she was his coworker."  
"What a wanker," he offered, "doubt she's anywhere as lovely as you are."  
"She's beautiful," Sophie sighed, "I don't even come close."  
He chuckled, "I beg to differ," he challenged, "any bloke in this room could tell you how beautiful you are."  
She laughed, head thrown back in bewilderment, "you're good," she assessed, "how many times have you used that line?"  
"Before tonight?" He winked.

They nursed their drinks a while longer, Sophie slightly more intoxicated than she would have liked, unsure if it was thanks to Tom or the alcohol. What was it about British men? He told her about his career, the ups and downs of acting and living such a public life. He was comfortable in his own skin, confident with where his life was headed. She envied him for a moment, jealous of his charisma and maybe even his drive. He was a go-getter in more ways than one.

She kept mum about her life, giving the basics - 29, NYC native - and averting the disastrous demise of her would have been marriage. _You're great, really,_ the words seared in her thoughts, _but maybe not great enough for me._ He watched her over the mess of glasses on their table, her face contorted into a not so pleasant scowl on her all too pleasant face. She had freckles scattered around her cheeks and nose, thin pink lips offset by dark blue eyes, chestnut hair that nearly begged his fingers to glide through the luscious strands. She sighed, tearing apart the napkin in her lap and shaking her head.

If you asked Sophie a few years ago where she'd be at this point in her life, she'd paint an all too clear picture for you. Married, two kids at least, a dog - Golden Retriever -, a grey shingle house in the Country with a big white picket fence and maybe a garden in the back. A trampoline would be a must, as well as comfy patio set and hanging lights around the backyard. She sighed at the thought, the loneliness that slowly creeped through her veins, as she realized her dreams were no longer. She'd go home, alone, no kids, no dog, no beautiful house, and go back to her nine to five. Back to the dating pool of Uptown, blend into singles scene once more, and hope for the best.

He quirked a brow, "you alright, love?"  
"Is it me or is it suddenly hot in here?" Sophie choked, pushing her hair behind her ears.  
"It's a bit stuffy," he tried, standing up and grabbing his coat, "well, are you coming?"

She watched him for a second, seemingly so out of place in his perfectly tailored smart pants and crisp white button down, yet so at ease with his surroundings. Slinging his coat on, she watched the defined lines of his muscles work beneath the thin material of his shirt, each move so languid, as if rehearsed. For a brief moment she wondered what he'd look like with his shirt off.

She stands beside him and he helps her into her coat, his slender fingers brushing the nape of her neck slightly. A chill runs up her spine as she fastens the few buttons, thankful that he couldn't see the blush that rushed her cheeks. Tugging her scarf around her neck, she followed him out of the pub and onto the chilly streets of London. People milled about as they walked the streets in the direction of her hotel. Nudging her shoulder with his, he gives her a small smile and she feels herself swoon. There is something so alarming about his smile, the way his lips curve up at the corners, sending the slightest hint of crows feet to his blue eyes.

He's handsome and she's sure he knows it and that others do too, as well. His presence beside her was almost heaven sent. But, she didn't need saving. No, Sophie wasn't a damsel in distress, she could save herself if need be. What she did need was a shoulder to cry on for a few minutes. Preferably a handsome, British one. She frowned once more at the thought of going home tomorrow to her empty apartment. Her life was in boxes - literally - stacked in the dining room of her midtown Manhattan loft.

"You think too much," he concluded as the rounded the corner to the brightly lit hotel.  
"How do you even know I'm thinking?" She gaped, walking through the busy lobby of the hotel.  
"You make a face," he said, waving it off, "is this where we part?"  
She nodded, "I had a great time," she faltered, "I'd invite you up but I don't think they restocked my mini bar and I think it may be a bit of a mess-"  
He laughed, cutting off her rambling, "I think we both know I'm not interested in your mini bar, Sophie," he mused, pressing the up button.  
"Oh, right," she flustered, her cheeks a bright shade of pink.  
"That is, if you'll have me, of course," he added, the perfect Englishman cover up.

They stepped into the empty elevator, the buzz of the movement deafening in the heavy silence that lulled between them. She watched the numbers flash, very aware of the sudden elephant in the room, the elevator coming to a halt on twenty two, the doors _ding!_ open. With his hand on the small of her back, he ushers them out towards her hotel room, the warmth of his splayed hand burning through the wool of her coat. Was she really going to do this?

Fiddling with her key, she swallowed around the forming lump in her throat, willing her words to work with her mouth. There were many things wrong with this current situation, but there was one burning thought weighing heavily in her mind; comfort. She could find her monetary solace within Tom, even if it were just for one night.

"Sophie," he pressed, his lips close to her ear.  
She was suddenly on fire, "hmm?"  
"Do you need help?" He offered, his fingers ghosting over hers as she pushed the key card through the lock.  
The bright green light shone in the dimly lit hallway, "depends on the kind you're offering."

He laughed suddenly, surprised by the burst of confidence coercing through her. Before the click of the door shutting was heard in the dark hotel room, his hands were on her, his lips rough against her own, the fine stubble of his facial hair coarse against her face, as he pressed her to the cool mirrored wall. She gasped against his mouth, his lips workings hers in a feverish manner she wasn't accustomed to. His kiss was full of urgency; tongues intertwined, fighting for dominance.

His slender fingers deftly worked the buttons of her coat, pushing it off her shoulders roughly and letting it pool around their feet. Pulling away from her, he sheds his coat in one swift moment, his eyes never leaving hers. He watches her with such intensity, she feels as if she might go ablaze. His predatory gaze doesn't falter as he closes the space between them, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him. Were all British men this passionate?

"We shouldn't," she mumbled against his lips as his hands found the skin beneath her top.  
"Why not?" He rasped against the smooth column of her throat.  
"We don't even know each other," she gasped as he nipped at her flesh.  
"What's your surname?" He wondered, his thumbs skimming the curve of her breast, the lace material rough against the pads of his thumbs.  
"Martin," she answered, stilling a moan as be sought out her exposed flesh.  
"Lovely to meet you, Sophie Martin, 29, from the States, I'm Tom, we were just on what could have been a fantastic first date, but if you'll allow me I'd really like to get you out of these clothes and in between the bed sheets," he announced, his voice serious but his eyes mischievous.

She let out a startled laugh; he was the epitome of dashing. Flashing her a devilish grin, she feels the courage to close the space between them. Her slender fingers tug at the ends of his hair, her nails raking against his scalp as his mouth envelopes her once more. His lips are smooth, soft and a bit more gentle this time around, coaxing her inner vixen out. His hands trail her body with a sense of familiarity, his tongue stroking hers with a longing ache of desire. She sighs, her body sagging against his as he maneuvers them towards the bed, his nimble fingers pushing up the thin material of her sweater slowly, pulling it off of in one swift movement.

It falls to the floor beside them, and she's suddenly self conscious. She remembers the last time she was with her fiance - Ethan, if we _have_ to mention him - the last time he touched her, kissed her, told her he loved her. She watches Tom's expression - a mix of appreciation and sheer lust - his blue eyes nearly blown black as he seizes her up. The  look in his eyes is nearly unfamiliar to Sophie, unaware of the appreciation that one could have for her. The last time Ethan commented on her body was to tell her she needed to drop a few pounds before the wedding. Amidst her hesitation, she covers her body with her arms, willing Tom to look away.

"Let me see you," he commands, his deep voice low, as he removes her hands from her body.

Her throat dries as he stalks toward her, the predatory look in his eyes never faltering. Cupping her face in his large hands, he kisses her soundly, taking her bottom lip between his teeth suddenly. A heady feeling washes over her as his hands roam below the waist band of her tight jeans, fingers sliding between the material separating them. An appreciative groan escapes his throat as he cups the flesh of her bum, squeezing softly and pulling her closer.

"You're wearing entirely too much," he rasps against her ear as she works the buttons of his shirt.  
Her fingers tremble slightly, "so are you," she murmurers.  
Covering her hands with his, he helps her undo the tiny pearl buttons, "we should take care of that, then, don't you think?"

She nods dumbly as he discards his shirt on the floor near hers. Her mind is clouded with desire as she watches the movement of his muscles, the grooves of his abs, as he stands before her shirtless. She reaches out a hand to touch him, her index finger trailing down the fine patch of hair above his naval. Lips pursed, she hums, bemused.

"You look really nice with your shirt off," she admits.  
He grins, "as do you, but I have yet to really see."

If he had to, she was sure he could make her detonate on the spot with just his voice. The way he spoke made her lose any sense of coherence she thought she had. Words seemed to just flow from his lips, perfectly placed, as if he stroked them to precision. He quirked an eyebrow at her, watching her arms bend behind her and release the snap to the flimsy piece of lingerie he had begun to admire.

"Exquisite," he uttered, pulling her to him and nipping at her neck.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur for Sophie. Somewhere in between the panting and chanting of his name, she found herself feeling more like herself. Tom had made it a point to worship her body, every curve, every sweet spot. He sought to give her the pleasure that she's never had - that she deserved, according to him - and he wasn't going to stop until he had her withering beneath him, begging.

Sometime in the darkness of the night, he rolled on top of her, their minds still coated with sleep. As he kissed her softly, the brightness of the moon filtered through the half opened blinds. He held her in his arms as he buried himself within her, slow trusts eliciting the sweetest sounds from her throat. Arching beneath him, her nails dug into his forearms, the constant pleas of _yes Tom! please! don't stop!_ escaping her became a sweet song he'd almost long to hear. His brow was furrowed, his blue eyes focused on her face. In that moment, she didn't seem like a woman scorned, like a fragile girl left out to fend for herself. She seemed like the beautiful woman he'd imagined her to be; strong, driven.

The rustling of clothes and the quiet click of the door pulled Sophie out of her peaceful slumber. Her mind hazy, she laid in bed for a few seconds before reality kicked in. Beneath the crisp hotel sheets, she was bare, her body warm, flushed from what she remembered as a dangerously delicious night. She feels the slept in space beside her, nearly cool to the touch, as she she sat up and scaned the small hotel room.

A slight frown tugs at the corners of her lips, the certainty of his disappearance settling in. His clothes, once strewed across the hotel room floor, were gone, as well as the thick wool coat he wore. Laying back down, the musky smell of his cologne engulfed her, his scent still present in her sheets and on her skin. She bites her to keep a squeal from escaping; she had a one night stand with a beautiful Englishman. Thanks Ethan?

After a long soak in the hotel's enticing claw foot bath, she pads around the hotel room in search of her cell phone, gathering her belongings and preparing to head home tonight. Tossing the rest of her belongings in her toiletries bag, she finds the crumpled piece of paper beneath the small leather bag.

_Sophie-_

_Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of getting to know you. Your ex is a fool but I'll remember to thank him. Shall we ever meet again, I look forward to seeing your wonderful smile and hearing your soothing laugh._

_All my love, Tom x_

Beneath the nearly perfect cursive print,  his phone number was scribbled in a mess of numbers. She sighed, tucking the note into the back pocket of her jeans and zipping up her suitcase. London was grand,  but some things are better left unsaid. Tom would soon become a monetary distraction in the back of her mind. The one night stand that returned her confidence. Peering out the window, the black town car zipped through the quiet streets of London in the early morning, shuttling Sophie to the crowded Heathrow Airport. With her bags checked and a styrofoam cup full of steaming coffee, she settled into her seat on the already boarding flight headed back to New York. In a few hours she'll be back into the dreaded cold, celebrating New Year's Eve by herself on the couch with a cheap bottle of wine and equally cheap Chinese food.


End file.
